Frozen Moments and Backward Glances: Tom Marvolo Riddle
by hennaravenclaw
Summary: Lord Voldemort may have lost the ability to repent, but his ability to recall the past remains intact despite tireless suppression. The night of the Battle of Hogwarts, he takes a trip into the boggy marshes of memory...
1. Chapter 1

Untitled character backstory (Tom Marvolo Riddle)

i.

The Dark Lord sat in Lucius Malfoy's study—the finest room in Malfoy Manor. Day was slowly fading to dusk, the sky outside turning blood red. His surroundings, the Dark Lord mused, were finally what he deserved. Seated on a luxurious leather chair, he flipped mindlessly through the thick pile of schematics, lists and plans placed on the polished rosewood desk. Deciding that they'd long been committed to memory, he turned them to smouldering ashes with a flick of his wand.

Victory was only hours away, burning bright in its tantalising completeness; he was sure of it. Yet it was almost as though something was missing.

Bellatrix Lestrange had fiercely advocated attacking as the castle's inhabitants were asleep, but he had vetoed the idea.

"No, Bella," he had laughed, humourless as his fingers skimmed over her head lightly. A gesture that looked both paternalistic and mildly reproving, when in fact it was coldly calculated to get the compliance he desired. "Why sneak up on them in the dead of the night when we have more than enough forces to overcome them in a 'fair' battle? Much more glorious for the history books, I think."

The woman had nodded frantically. "Yes, my lord," she had cooed, "But of course, I wouldn't call it a battle. That would imply that both sides have an equal chance of winning. _Decimation_ sounds like a much more appropriate word."

His lip had curled into a half-smile. He had been, however, far too busy thinking about all the books that would be written about him. He could almost _see_ the words in gilded print: _The Dark Lord along with his loyal followers stormed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, emerging victorious in a pitched battle, abolishing the House system and uniting all of pure magical blood under the noble house of Salazar Slytherin._

Narcissa Malfoy quietly pushed the door open and glided in. "My Lord," she murmured, head bowed. "The army has assembled. My sister wishes to know when you would like them to leave." He regarded the slender, pale woman before him with faint interest. She was worth ten of Lucius Malfoy, (he decided) continuing to bend when her husband had long since snapped in two and fallen by the roadside like a broken Muggle toy.

"Tell them to go ahead without me." If she was surprised, it didn't show. "Yes, my Lord." Bowing, she exited the room. The Dark Lord exhaled heavily. Tonight, his domination of the British wizarding world would be complete. So why did he feel so...

He couldn't put his finger on it. Afraid? Certainly not. He had nothing to fear. Nervous? No, not when he couldn't possibly suffer defeat. His Horcruxes ensured that. The diary was destroyed and the cup gone, but the snake was curling around his feet at that very moment, the locket and ring were safe and the diadem ensconced in the Room of Hidden Things at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts…he sighed. Noticing a stray piece of parchment that had floated to the ground under the desk, he lifted it with a twitch of his hand and found himself staring at a diagram of the castle, complete with all the secret passages and shortcuts that he once—and still knew like the back of his hand. It was a pity that magical blood would have to be spilled tnoight, he decided, but no one who supported Harry Potter could have a place in his new empire. He couldn't help wondering how much Dark Magic Hogwarts could withstand before it started to crumble. After all, it had once been his home…


	2. Chapter 2: Creatures

Chapter Two: Creatures

Eleven-year-old Tom Marvolo Riddle stepped off the Hogwarts Express, sharp eyes darting about him. Hundreds of teenaged witches and wizards milled about on the platform, chattering animatedly. Tom pretended to adjust his robes (he'd already done that thirteen times; the very last thing he wanted was to seem unable to even _maintain_ a decent appearance on his first day) and studiously avoided looking anyone in the eye.

"First years over here, this way! To the boats!" A deep voice sounded somewhere from the edge of the din. Gratefully following the sound, he found the source—a ruddy-cheeked, broad-shouldered young man with a nasty gash that was nowhere near healing along his cheek. "Right-o! All first years, come over here and get into these boats! Four into a boat, come on now! We haven't got all night, you know!" He bellowed as though they were at the opposite end of the country, not mere feet away from him. Many of the first-years winced at the onslaught and tried to subtly back away. Tom frowned. Somehow, he'd expected Hogwarts to be…more than this. _Hogwarts, a History,_ had painted pictures of antiquity and grandeur, yet this man (_surely_ he couldn't be one of the Professors?) was loud and uncouth as all the Muggles whose presence Tom had the great displeasure of enduring.

Shortly, three more boys leapt into the boat Tom was seated in, nearly capsizing it and breaking Tom's train of thought. They behaved much as one would expect of eleven-year-old boys no longer the watchful eye of their parents, yelling and playfully shoving one another around. None of them took noticeo of the pale, skinny boy sitting off to the side. For his part, Tom was perfectly happy to distance himself from the rowdy bunch. He could not, however, help noticing the easy familiarity (or perhaps even _camaraderie) _they had. There'd been none of that back at the miserable Muggle orphanage; not that Tom had _wanted_ to consort with those snivelling weaklings.

Halfway across the smooth, rippling waters of the lake, they heard a strange squelching sound. Tom turned to look, as did the others. A giant tentacle, three feet long and much thicker than both Tom's arms put together had appeared out of nowhere and was moving steadily towards them. There was no one remotely near enough to notice; they were in the last boat. Tom seized his wand, dimly registering the sharp shriek one of the boys behind him let out. Desperately, he racked his brain for a spell. _whatwasitwhatwasitwhatwasit?_

"Diffindo!" he roared, flicking his wrist as the diagram had indicated. The tentacle split cleanly in two, the thinner end dropping into the water with a plop. The thicker stump, dripping with a blueish, viscous liquid, flailed about wildly for a few seconds before retreating into the dark waters with an upleasant squelch.

Tom turned around to look at the other occupants of the boat, hands clenched tight in the hope that no one would notice they were trembling. They looked back at him with an odd mix of admiration, digust, shock and something he couldn't quite place.

"I'm Orion, Orion Black" a boy with dark hair said, extending his hand haughtily. "This is Avery, and this is Rosier. And you are?"

Tom accepted the proffered hand, shaking it before replying in the most even tone he could muster, "Tom Riddle."

"Riddle? " The other boy frowned. "Never heard that name before...surely you can't be a Mudblood; all of them come into school not even knowing you to hold their wands, sodding lot of fools they are. Where're you from?"

"London," Tom replied carefully. "No, of course I'm not a Mudblood."

"_Really?" _Orion inquired, seeming to swell a little and forgetting how terrified he had been minutes ago. "London's filled with Muggles. The whole place's teeming with those filthy things. What're you parents names, anyway?"

Tom jerked back a little, stung. "None of your business," he replied, tone a little sharper than before. Orion lifted a faintly incredulous eyebrow, but turned away and went back to Avery and Rosier. Fortunately, the boat ride had reached its end while they were talking. Clambering out of the boat, Tom got his first glimpse of the castle, and what he saw took his breath away.


End file.
